Castle to Sand
by Ochiba-san
Summary: Complete. Trowa and Quatre have broken the friendship and now that a rivaling company is using violence against WEI, Trowa is the only one with the ability to protect the CEO of WEI, Quatre Raberba Winner.
1. Pitfall

Castle to Sand

Chapter 1: Pitfall

Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam!!!

* * *

The rain had been pounding against the window for long moments, filling the tense void where words should have been many moments before. Accompanied by the distant clicking ceiling fan, it seemed that the rain was the only corporeal sound. After all, the humming couldn't be real, no matter how worldly it felt, buzzing in through one ear and vibrating the thick swirl of thoughts within that lump of brain matter before exiting, carrying any reply that could have possibly been made.

Shaking hands clenched numbly, short-cropped fingernails digging crescent-shaped cuts into the palm of a pale hand. Wide blue eyes stared across the room, over the neatly-made bed to stare at the tall man lingering by flung-open closet doors, revealing the haphazard state of the wardrobe within. Working his throat, the blue-eyed boy fought for words, captured in the dumb humming strings wrapped around his brain. "Wh… what?" He was at a loss, his usually ready vocabulary had been shocked clear of the words that may have helped the situation.

From across the room the taller man exhaled, the stiffness that he'd borne in his stature before his confession sapped from him to leave him as a slumping figure, baring his nude soul to the person he wished most to understand. "That's why I've been asking you not to leave." When the blonde didn't respond, he was almost expecting the younger to start crying. "I know that the company wants you in New York, but you have to understand how serious that kind of decision is."

"Trowa, stop." The blonde man began, blue eyes regaining the usual brightness, though the calm pacifist expression had been replaced by what seemed to be betrayal. "Just stop." Clenching his hand around the suitcase, he looked up at Trowa, meeting pleading green eyes with no hesitation. "Do you really think that saying something like that will keep me from doing what is in my responsibility to do? WEI is in need of some executive help on Earth and I can't let that pass by just because you pull a prank like this!"

Trowa looked away, seeking shelter from that scrutinizing glare in the only way he knew how. He had never expected Quatre, the heir to WEI Industries, the born and raised pacifist, to be so upset simply because of a confession. "Do you think that I'm joking?" His voice held no emotion, the walls that he'd become so accustomed to building falling into place, protecting him from the deep-felt trust that he'd given Quatre.

The blonde scoffed. "What else could you be doing?" Trowa didn't reply and so Quatre spun on his heel to face the door. "I have to say that I never would have expected you to stoop to something like this. I'm going to the shuttle port." With this he stormed out of the room, head hanging down to stare at the floor just in front of his feet.

"Wait, Quatre—" Trowa began, his baritone wavering as the walls of his façade crumbled, but was immediately cut off.

"There's nothing more to talk about." Quatre stated, his voice just as cold as it was usually warm, as though all the heat of it had drained out of his body and left him with the shadow of who he had been. "I'll send a message when I get there."

* * *

Trowa stared at the ceiling, his cell phone sitting on the nightstand next to the bed. The fan clicked and squeaked just as it had the night that Quatre had left. The brunette supposed that it was the fan that had made him think of it. Almost a year had passed since the violinist had left, leaving Trowa with a message passed through Duo that he'd arrived safely in New York.

Since then, Trowa had only seen the blonde once at the annual Christmas party at the Vice Foreign Minister's mansion. Even then, it had only been a passing glance and later he found from Wufei that he had excused himself early, claiming to need to catch an early flight back.

He hadn't even stayed to see the orchestra.

Rolling over onto his side, Trowa exhaled slowly, hoping to ease the loneliness crawling into his chest. Staring with gold-flecked green eyes at the cell phone, the man debated picking it up and calling Quatre, but it was too late for apologies. Besides, hadn't it been Quatre who had taught him never to be sorry for your emotions? A part of Trowa wished that the blonde man had only gotten upset because the topic had been touchy, that Quatre's well-disguised arrogance had gotten the best of him. However, after a few weeks without word, Trowa dismissed the chance.

Giving up, Trowa picked up the remote and turned on the television in hopes of the dull commentators lulling him off to sleep. The colours on the screen were initially a shock to his sensitive eyes, having become accustomed to the darkness provided by the rain pounding outside the apartment.

A man in a grey suit was speaking blankly to the audience, talking about a rise in competition within private businesses and the violence that had been occurring since. "Sources say that the struggle between RN Tech and WEI Industries has been on the rise lately," The man began and Trowa's attention was immediately caught. "Whether or not the violence aimed at chairman Quatre Winner is caused by connections to RN Tech is unknown, but officials are investigating the case…"

A shrill ring tore the man's eyes from the television and Trowa groped for the phone that he'd left on the bedside table. He flipped it open and held it to his ear, answering with a distant "Hello."

"Trowa?" A voice questioned from the other end and he immediately registered it with Sally Po.

"Yes this is Trowa." He eased himself against the wall, staring at the television screen as Quatre was shown being ushered out of a crowd filled with obvious pandemonium.

"Are you watching the news right now?" Trowa grunted a confirmation that he was, opting not to say more than necessary. "Have you heard anything about it from Quatre?"

Trowa shook his head, even though he knew that Sally couldn't see. "No, we haven't spoken. Why?"

She sighed and sounded perturbed on the other end. "Well, Preventers has been left in the dark about all of this, and we were wondering why. After all, the Gundam pilots are prime targets for things like this and it's our responsibility to make sure something doesn't happen."

"I don't know any more than you do. I'm sorry." Making to hang up, Trowa was caught off by Sally calling out to him again. "Is there something else?"

Sally was quiet for a moment, as though thinking of how to word something. "Well, I heard from Duo that you and Quatre were on the outs a bit… but Preventers wants to assign you to Quatre as a body guard. You're the only person who knows enough about Quatre to help."

"Duo was misinformed." Sally started to ask a question, but Trowa continued, a bit upset that Duo had said anything. "Quatre and I aren't on the outs. We haven't spoken since he left, so that gives me reason to believe that he no longer considers me a friend. In that case we've split apart and I doubt it can be helped. I'm sorry, Sally, but I have to decline the mission."

Making to hang up again, Sally called out to him, catching his attention. "I'm sorry, Trowa, but you've already been assigned. Your shuttle heads out tomorrow morning." Without making a reply, Trowa flipped the phone closed and fell back onto the bed with a squeak of the springs.

A cold hand clenched around his heart and Trowa felt as though he was sinking into himself. He had no choice in the matter, making his decision to leave a rather simple one. What happened when he got to Earth would be a completely different story.

* * *

"No! You can't be serious!" Quatre shouted at the vid-phone. "I don't want Preventers involved." What did the Preventers think that they were doing calling him up and saying that a bodyguard was going to be sent down? As the head of WEI, he had all the help that he needed in that department and to think that he would be lowering the positions of the people set to him for that job alone within the company was almost unbelievable.

The voice on the other end was sincere and, despite the usual sarcastic nature of it, was apologetic. "Look, I'm sorry Q, but you don't really have a choice in the matter. The fact is that you're a pilot and your image has to be protected."

Oh, so his image had to be protected, not Quatre himself? He exhaled exasperatedly. "Duo, I don't need protection. I'm capable of taking care of myself if I have to."

"I know and you know, but I don't make the choices around here." In the monitor, Duo glanced behind him and accepted a wad of papers from what seemed to be Heero and grimaced. "Q, his shuttle's coming in at three." Quatre nodded, turning back to his work, vaguely aware of Duo's warning following. "Don't be too hard on him."

* * *

Stepping out of the elevator into the building, Trowa could feel his anticipation rise, so he immediately tightened the hold on the walls blocking him from the outside world. After all, this was a job. Nothing more… but the fact remained that the small needles that had begun to prick at his heart when he first boarded the shuttle that morning had grown more numerous, the pricks stabbing deeper any time a thought of his old friend passed through his mind. He sighed and stood up taller, the bags in hand as he made his way to the residential district of the building.

Booted shoes padded softly along on the Berber carpet as Trowa passed by the metal panel doors. The keypads on the side blinked at him with red lights waiting for respective cards to be slid in to allow the owner's access. However, Trowa knew that no one would be inside now since the workday was still in full force. Approaching a door near the end of the hallway, he looked up and read the number. 106… a quick glance to his card proved the door to be his residence for the next few months. He slid the card in and pulled it out, and upon hearing the click of the gears and the appearance of the flashing green light, he turned the handle and entered.

The room itself was adequately sized with the living room opening up from the entrance and furnished with a plain couch and a television. From the doorway, the dining area was visible. A small table and chairs were the only furnishings besides the appliances, the windows left bare of shades or drapes and Trowa decided that there would be no need to change the place in the least. After all, it was better suited than any of the places he'd occupied during the war with the exception of Quatre's desert home.

A ghost of a smile crossed his face at this though, a rare gesture on the brunette. That visit had been the first time he'd met Quatre. The memory of that familiar music they'd played echoed in his mind and just as the stone walls of his guard began to slip, the harsh needles returned and Trowa winced and allowed the memory to slip away.

There would be no more times like that. This was a job and nothing more.

He turned immediately to the right down a hallway that led into the bedroom and connected bathroom. The full-sized bed would be more than enough and although the sheets seemed to be rather thin, Trowa knew he wouldn't have much trouble keeping warm what with the nightmares that tended to plague him.

Setting down the suitcase on his bed, Trowa unzipped it and pulled out the slacks and button-up shirt that he'd been instructed to bring. He brusquely changed into it and turned to the coat bag, pulling out a blazer and tie before laying them over the top of a chair situated in the corner of the room. Tiredly he made his way to the bathroom and ran some hot water, slashing it on his face in a vain effort to freshen up before arriving for inspection.

As he dried his face, an electric chill ran up his spine causing him to immediately turn and reach for the gun that he typically kept in a shoulder holster. Hard-set eyes darted up to eye the small form in the doorway and he immediately froze, his hand still reaching for the gun that wasn't there.

* * *

Slim hands opened the drawer just beneath the keyboard on his desk and Quatre exhaled irritably. He closed the drawer and stood, running a hand through his hair. Of course, the one day that he'd be most prone to a migraine, he'd leave his medicine in his room. The spots in front of his eyes had been an annoyance for a while, but as soon as the rolling of his eyes were audible, he'd decided to stoop to picking up his prescriptions and succumbing to the pain so that he could finish his work before the bodyguard came and would have to be given the crash course on how things were going to work, Preventers orders or no.

He made his way to the front, passing by his secretary with a quick wave. "I'm going to get my headache pills, I'll be back in a while." The woman nodded and went back to filing the papers that the Winners had left to burden her with. Quatre stepped into the elevator, reminding himself that she'd requested a raise. After all, she did deserve it. His sisters had caused a big ruckus when he'd arrived and the woman had taken it all in stride, taking instructions eagerly, although Quatre could see through the fake smile she'd put on. Being a master of the same mask, himself, the blonde man had come to be able to easily recognise it.

The elevator dinged at him and the doors slid open. Walking down the hallway towards his room, he rubbed his temples. All of those red lights seemed to catch his eye and made his head throb even further, the vision swirling from the overabundance of oxygen to the brain. Reverse migraines were always the worst. Then he paused. One of the lights was green?

Quatre puzzled over it. The housekeepers weren't due in until Wednesday. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion over quizzical blue eyes. He was tempted to pass it by, but as instinct pushed him forward, he decided that instinct was usually right and gave in to knocking. He waited. Maybe someone was just stopping into their room just like Quatre himself was about to? It was never worth locking the door on a drop-in visit, even if policy said to set up the automatic locks upon arrival. No one answered… Quatre pushed lightly on the door, causing it to open with a swishing sound as it disturbed the air.

The apartment looked unused, as though no one at all lived in it. Not even a bit of dust had been disturbed, the circulating air stale and smelling of air conditioning. He eased into the apartment, the promise of residence coming from the running water deeper in. If the owner of the room turned out to be the slacking parking guard, Quatre decided that he would relieve him of the obstruction to his lethargy immediately…

He slipped through the bedroom, noticing the newly unpacked jacket and tie lying over the burnt orange chair in the corner, proving that the parking guard in question was indeed safe. Quatre nearly hissed at the colour of the chair, however. So this was one of the rooms that had been pre-furnished and passed over when his sisters had gone through redecorating. At least it was still too dark in the room to notice the disturbing shades of salmon decorating the comforter. He felt sorry for whoever had to deal with the floral-design, but decided that there were more important things to do than worry about mismatched furnishings. The distracting splashing water was demanding his attention and Quatre wasn't about to ignore it.

Warm light was filtering out into the bedroom from the half-opened door and Quatre raised a hand to push it open. A man was bent over the sink, splashing water onto his face. Quatre's breath caught in his chest at the sight of the build, a small voice in his head whispering something about how nice it looked, but Quatre pushed it away irritably. When the man's ministrations slowed, the blonde's shoulders tensed. Maybe Preventers had been right in sending him a bodyguard if he was going to be kidnapped by someone he thought of as one of his own. The other man spun, hand flying to hover over his heart, a single gold-flecked green eye staring past the cover of honey brown hair.

Quatre fought the urge to simply slump against the wall and slide to the ground. The spots in his eyes had grown more numerous in his shock and the pounding more severe due to the rising temper. Preventers hadn't dared… "You…" he hissed accusatorily.

The older man straightened, staring with walled up eyes at the blonde. "Trowa Barton reporting on Preventers case 30915, sir." The impersonal introduction went unheard.

"You… What are you doing here?" Quatre demanded, not even bothering to address the former companion by his name.

"I have been assigned to act as a bodyguard for the CEO of WEI, Quatre Raberba Winner, sir."

Quatre was practically shaking as he approached Trowa, his blue eyes wide with anger. "You should have stayed home. Tell Preventers that I'll have anyone but you."

Trowa's passive face shifted into a slight frown and his brows furrowed so slightly that no one but Quatre would have been able to catch it. "I did."

"Then do it again if you have to!" The blonde attempted to step forward, but wavered on his feet, a hand rising to his head to fend off the wave of pain. He turned away, giving up the fight, wishing more to just lay down and forget. "Don't bother showing up to the dinner tonight. It would be a waste of your time." With this, he slowly exited, leaving Trowa alone.

Needless to say, Quatre no longer pitied Trowa for having the salmon floral comforter.

* * *

Trowa's posture slipped away, the moment he heard the front door slide shut. He leaned back against the counter top and looked at himself askance in the mirror. The change in appearance was already becoming apparent. Shadows were appearing under his eyes and the strain of stress was hardening his facial features just as they had in the war. Looking at himself, Trowa saw he pain in his own eyes and shook his head.

"I'd rather you hate me and live."


	2. Resurgence

Castles to Sand

Chapter 2: Resurgence

Disclaimer: Still don't own Gundam.

* * *

Blessedly cold air immediately met the blonde's flushed cheeks. Head throbbing and body aching from stress, the CEO of WEI, Quatre Raberba Winner, stumbled into the bedroom, forgetting about the migraine pills he'd left to get in the first place.

If he'd known that he would have met up with a certain Trowa Barton, he never would have set foot outside the office. The blonde threw himself onto the bed, covering his face in a pillow so as to block the remaining light from his sensitive eyes. He could hear them rolling and straining in his head, squeaking as they moved in thought. It sent an itch up his spine that he hadn't been able to rid himself of since the night he had left the apartment with the full intention of never speaking to Trowa again.

Quatre rolled onto his side and exhaled so dramatically that it could have been mistaken for a sigh. Still, even though it released a bit of the stress tightening his chest, the fury burning cold in his chest refused to give an inch towards release. That form of betrayal was revolting, deplorable and having Trowa use Quatre's trust in him just to play a trick… His brows furrowed and he felt the force of the excess blood to the brain pumping faster. If he weren't careful, he'd seriously hurt himself, so he exhaled again and forced himself to relax.

Closing redlined blue eyes, Quatre felt himself slipping into memory, the silver strands of it lulling him into a sense of security. Images swept past his direct line of vision, blurring at the edges so that they were not quite decipherable, no matter how familiar they seemed. Two figures in the mid-afternoon light, looking over a lake, one to his right, one to his left, the feeling of sadness and completion flowing over him.

Another picture came into semi-focus, the cold interior of a Gundam pressing in around him, a passive indifference pouring over his mind before the panic overtook him and he could see the screen to his left fill with static and he was calling out, the tears he'd shed previously floating through the cockpit, mocking his hectic screaming.

The turntable of his brain shifted again and for the first time focussed, the reality of the past overtaking him into a dream.

* * *

_Looking out the window, deep, anxious blue eyes watched the desert monsoon flood the street. He hoped that the taxi would be able to make it through the water. Biting his lip, he debated walking to the train station, but he knew full well that they'd not be running during this part of the season._

_Three knocks on the hotel door drew his attention away from the open blinds and he worked around the suitcases on the ground to get to it. He was puzzled for a moment. It couldn't be the taxi, he hadn't seen the familiar blue-bodied vehicle pull up…He slid the door chain in and opened the door a crack. A smile immediately appeared on Quatre's face._

_Outside the door, Trowa was looking up from his cell phone, no doubt checking the time to see if Quatre was still checked in. A faint grin spread across his lips, but there was a certain sadness in his gaze that Quatre hadn't noticed before… After saying his greeting, the blonde unfastened the chain and let in the taller man._

"_Didn't pack last night?" Trowa asked smoothly, like he always did when Quatre went on a trip._

_Quatre grinned and made his way back to the other side of the suitcases, pulling articles of clothing from the closet where he'd left them the night before. "I did," He replied traditionally, "but I changed my wardrobe at the last minute." Pulling one of the button-up shirts from off the hanger, Quatre began to fold them and place the shirts one by one into the suitcase designed for the purpose, but upon reaching the last article, he paused._

_Slender fingers were running over the collar of the pink shirt, causing the blonde to look up and catch the distant look in Trowa's eyes before he smiled quietly once more, like he always did. "You still take it with you?"_

_The blonde nodded. "Yeah. I guess it's like a good luck charm for me." He picked up the hanger and looked at the pink and purple fabric, finally handing it over to Trowa. "Maybe you should keep it."_

_Trowa took the hanger and nodded quietly, laying the clothes on a chair in the corner. Turning again, Quatre could have sworn that Trowa was about to say something, but before he could ask, another knock came to the door and the blonde bit back a curse. (It was a bad habit that Duo had gotten him into when he had visited L2 the previous summer.) He slammed closed the suitcases and jumped over them to the door, almost slipping in his loafers, the soles holding no traction on the carpet. Fingers flying to put in the door chain, he opened it, hearing from the other side "Cab service," and he replied that he'd be right down._

_Transferring the suitcases down to the cab didn't take long and pretty soon, Quatre found himself taking the last one in hand and turning to face the boy who had become a man, his best friend and companion in arms. "Well, I guess this is it. I'm off to New York."_

_Trowa nodded solemnly, vying not to verbally reply. Quatre sighed. "I'll call you up when I get there, okay. I should be arriving around five, so be expecting me." He stood there for a moment quietly, listening to the ceiling fan and basking in the friendship as he had so many times before, now to be the last for a long while. "The next time I'll see you will be at Relena's Christmas party, so I'll see you then." He turned, feeling home fade from him, the heat of welcoming draining from his back and he knew something was wrong before Trowa even called him back._

"_Quatre, wait." Trowa pleaded in an outburst so much unlike him that it caused Quatre to turn. "I—You can't go."_

_Eyebrows furrowed in confusion, Quatre opened his mouth to ask why, but was cut off. "I love you."_

_Then there was the humming, the ceiling fan and that endless silence…_

* * *

Trowa pulled on the black blazer, paying no outward attention to the hideous shade of orange the chair seemed so fond of displaying. If he looked at it too long, he discovered, his eyes would begin to water and that was the last thing he needed. Before the retina-searing rust colour could grab at him, the silent man turned to the suitcase on the bed, opened it and pulled out a pair of rubber-soled dress shoes so as to provide traction if need be. After all, this party was a big social event for business-goers. Everyone was itching to get an eyeful of the US based Winner mansion. Trowa himself had heard stories, but Quatre had been too modest to go into detail.

Moving to shut the top of the suitcase, a shock of rose-colour caught his eye against the black wardrobe and Trowa slowly, as though handling a precious antique, pulled out the wrinkled pink shirt, the purple vest hanging limply around the wilted shoulders.

Stupefied, Trowa examined the fabric inch for inch. The cloth was smooth against his fingers, but beneath where the vest would have covered were various small stitches holding the bullet holes closed.

Quatre had once said that this shirt was lucky. It must've been damn lucky if it had saved him from so many bullets.

He decided to replace the shirt before he was overtaken by melancholy. Quatre had also said it would be a waste of time if he showed up to the party tonight… but he'd accepted a mission and that was never a waste of time. Trowa picked his key card and shoved it into the inside pocket of his jacket and started out the door. It would be a long walk to the mansion.

* * *

He found himself wandering the streets without really knowing why. He'd chosen his best suit, a royal blue with ebony buttons and dual back vents. His shoes clicked lightly on the pavement beneath his feet, the stench of the city rising into his nostrils as he headed mindlessly towards the towering mansion in the eastern district, looking towards Manhattan over the expanse of water separating the cities. Blue eyes sized up the ancient Romanesque pillars dispassionately and slowly ascended the steps. The guards greeted him with a smile and a nod, which he distantly returned without knowing the reason and passed through the great double doors into a foyer. One person took his jacket and another person offered a glass of champagne, which he accepted and made his way out of the enterance way towards the noise and bustle of people.

Before he even caught sight of the banquet hall, he was overcome by the wall of perfume smelling up the ladies until he very nearly gagged.

One of the women near the perimeter caught his eye and nodded away from the gaggling flock He graciously followed, drink in hand even though he hadn't bothered to take a sip.

The room was quieter in the small alcove the woman had chosen and he eased himself into one of the high-backed chairs, taking a look at the woman who had saved him from fainting. She examined him with glittering blue eyes, almost curious; her blonde hair fell over her shoulders in long, curled cascades. She leaned forward a moment, her low-cut green dress revealing her chest a bit more than necessary before sitting down across from him. She propped her head up on one hand with a conniving smile. "Quatre Raberba Winner," she began, finally drawing Quatre from his dream-like spell, "What are you doing out here with the guests? I heard that you were supposed to meet with your guards before coming out onto the floor."

Quatre blinked slowly. "Dorothy, are you trying to imply that I want to get myself into trouble?"

The woman smiled and looked up through her eyelashes. "That could be implied. Or perhaps I'm helping a friend." She stood up and glanced over her shoulder, obviously looking for someone. "You shouldn't be so hard on Trowa. He's done a lot for you and he doesn't deserve to have you worry him."

The blonde man leaned forward to stand and looked casually over Dorothy's shoulder to see whom she was trying to find. "I doubt he's worried about me, Dorothy. He's just…"

"Doing my job…" The smooth baritone finished from behind Quatre and the blonde man turned, upset that he'd let his guard down that far then gave a pleading glance to Dorothy, who winked and disappeared into the crowd. The blonde man turned to Trowa, but didn't meet those walled gold-flecked green eyes.

That's right. His image was more important than he was.

Trowa exhaled a breath that he hadn't realized that he'd been holding and Quatre noticed him turn away ever so slightly. The blonde could see that slight waver in his demeanour that reminded him of when they were fighting outside of the President's mansion, assigned to 50 serpents a piece. "Make this battle count," Trowa had said then, that waver of worry in his eyes the only sign of his instability, "This is our final battle." The reminiscent expression caused a wavering question to hang in his mind. Maybe Trowa had actually been worried.

Maybe Quatre's image wasn't as solid as he had always expected.

"What are you doing here?" Quatre attempted to demand, but his voice came out hardly more than a whisper. "I thought I told you that it would be a waste of your time."

The green-eyed man glanced to the shorter, sharply dressed man and thought a moment. "Do you want to die?"

Quatre's own voice sounded in his mind, demanding an answer from an audience who couldn't even hear. "You're afraid of dying… aren't you, guys?" He murmured to himself and straightened. His answer was obvious, but he would be forced to push aside his grudge and give up the battle. He'd never given up like this, nor had he previously planned to. In fact, if he applied the very same mental structure that he'd had when giving the previous statement, the answer would be that he'd not back down simply because Trowa was standing in his way and therefore was his enemy. Quatre shook his head at his own logic.

"No. I don't want to die, but what makes you think that I'm going to? I'm just as able as the rest of you to take care of myself." This, of course, wasn't true. He could see through his own lie in an instant. The rest of the pilots had been much more physically apt to succeed whereas Quatre himself had to stick to "desk work" rather than many battle situations. Duo and Heero on the other hand were like powerhouses, dragging Trowa into the fray.

Trowa rested a hand on the table and glanced around the room slowly, as though judging his words very carefully. He pursed his lips at the last moment, only replying afterwards. "Just before I left this morning to the shuttle port, I received news from Noin that a conversation had been picked up coming from one of the remote RN Tech warehouses to the main building here in New York." He caught the sight of one of the other guards near the entrance of the ballroom and nodded to him, giving a small motion that Quatre knew to mean "target found and acquired."

"I know." Quatre said quietly. "I knew that they would try something if I planned something." He slid back down into one of the seats, forcing himself to feel sure that his precautions would hold firm and the little jackass that had been trying to force the downfall of WEI would be caught. He'd driven one of his sisters out of New York and Quatre wasn't ready to let it happen to him. "I've put in extra cameras and identification sensors around the mansion. Anyone who doesn't have access in here won't make it through without being found."

After a few moments of silence, Quatre felt a bit of disease rise up in his stomach. He didn't even have to look at Trowa to know that it wasn't outsiders that he'd been worried about.

The feeling turned from an itch, to a scab in his mind and he picked at it diligently. Something had been going on inside that he'd refused to pay much mind to. A hand tightened around Quatre's chest and he lost his breath for a moment. "Where's the guard at the front?"

Upon hearing Trowa exhale and start moving, Quatre stood from the chair and moved out into the open, heading directly for the podium at the front of the room. As he mounted the stairs, the music stopped and the guests began to applaud, oblivious to the strain creasing Quatre's boyish face.

He felt like a President in an Opera House.

Holding up a hand to the audience to quiet them, he adjusted the microphone to give himself time to find Trowa, but he couldn't find him amidst the shuffling groups of people nearing the makeshift stage. He nearly cursed and Quatre made a point to be civil-tongued around guests. "Quiet down please." He asked when the clapping didn't die down. Forcing the best smile that he could, the blonde turned his attention to delaying the double agent's notice of the conspiracy.

All eyes were turned on Quatre, the tall lights at the ceiling turned to act as a spotlight on his face. He blinked into the lights, momentarily blinded by them. "I'm sorry that I've brought you all up here on such short notice," the audience chuckled a bit since the party had been planned months in advance, "but there has been an announcement that I have been needing to make for quite some time. I hope that you will forgive me for not revealing it sooner, but I think that you'll find it of too great importance to rush into."

"Mr. Winner," A voice called from the audience, one of the reporters that Quatre had invited for coverage, "Are the rumors true that you're going to plan your engagement tonight?"

There had been a rumour going around? Quatre was taken aback for a moment, but immediately regained his smile and laughed. "I can assure you that I'm not getting married any time soon and that the rumours of my engagement are completely false. This matter is about inside relations of WEI. It seems that with the current upheaval of the terrorists against our company we've been in a bit of disarray. A need to boost morale has been in great demand, but since we've been focussing on rebuilding, we've been rendered incapable of taking such actions into motion…"

* * *

Once Quatre had said the word, Trowa had rushed out of the ballroom in search of the missing guard. Hand on the gun inside his jacket, he rushed down the hallway, green eyes catching sight of a figure at the end of the hall, opening a door disguised as a wood-panelled cabinet. Trowa grit his teeth together, stoically following through the door and up the rusted metal ladder.

When he reached the opening at the top of the ladder, he had to collect himself, the lights were much dimmer than they had been in the ballroom and, looking over the top of the railing on the slim walkway, Trowa saw that it was the catwalk, lights glowing in multiple colours below him. The silhouette further down the catwalk propped up a sniper on the floor. Trowa's eyebrows narrowed. There was no way in hell that he was going to allow Quatre to die this way, not while he was there to keep him from the fate that they all had barely avoided only years before. _It's better for him to hate me and live._

_Do you want to die?_ And he'd stopped fighting.

Trowa approached the man and snapped his leg out in a kick, knocking the gun away from the man, who looked up at Trowa with shocked, angry eyes. The ex-pilot stared down stoically, a warning lingering in the night-darkened eyes.

He refused to deny Quatre his newfound love for life having now extended far beyond a mere respect of it.

The man cursed and retaliated in an uppercut, but Trowa ducked back, causing the assassin to stumble towards the railing, gripping at it before throwing himself back at Trowa with fervour. Trowa rolled away, pulling his gun out of the holster in a practised motion, turning it on the man with a warning on his lips, but the man paid no mind, lost in his own thirst for blood. Shocked, the younger man had no time to retreat, but blocked with his arms and supported himself with his feet as he dug them into the grating.

Standing and stumbling away, the assassin pulled out a short knife from the back of his pants and snapped it open, the serrated edges glinting maniacally at him. Trowa pushed himself off the ground, head landing firmly in the man's diaphragm and successfully knocking the wind out of him. He uppercut, sending he man's head to look upwards as he stumbled backwards, knife falling out of his hand to skid across the grated flooring. Trowa pulled back his arm, ready to strike the man in the face with his elbow, supported by the hand still equipped with the automatic, but with crazed eyes, the assassin threw his weight at Trowa in the form of a kick sending him flying through the rusted railing of the catwalk and drifting endlessly to the floor.

He stared up at the scruffy-faced assassin, flaming animalistic pits where eyes should have been. Trowa drifted endlessly towards the floor trapped in a momentary surreal suspension, multicoloured lights shining in his eyes and on his face casting a rainbow of emotions over him. Above these was the ringing thought, voices calling through the past to the beginning of this supposed reign of peace: You should stay "Trowa." It suits you.

Besides, now we have a place to go back to.

Trowa closed his eyes then, giving into the freefall, giving into the Endless Waltz.

* * *

"However, with much research we have discovered that in our midst tonight is one that we had thought to be one of our own, but means harm to each and every one of you. The truth is that the time for peace is superficial, no matter how much we want for it to be realiztic." A murmuring began in the crowd and Quatre could see Dorothy working her way to the front, an outworldishly worried look in her eyes. "There are still those out there who will move against all morals to reach their own selfish goals. WEI isn't a company who will support this, so I ask you all to please remain calm and evacuate to the basement by lead of the guards at the front—"

"Quatre!" Dorothy's voice called out frantically, causing shocked blue eyes to follow the silhouette falling from the catwalk. Voice catching in his throat, he watched the body hit the ground, a sick feeling converging over him in a massive wave so that he staggered around the podium.

People were formed in a circle around the form, but were quickly rushing out of the doors in a panic, shrill voices screaming above all the other ruckus of motion. Everything felt as though it was falling into itself, and he no longer cared. Quatre walked in a daze forward, his own breath and heartbeat drowning out all other sound, the internal white noise splashing onto the shores of his conscious mind and shattering the sensibility in him.

The waves parted suddenly, a figure rushing from the centre of the crowd at him and he stumbled backwards, caught off guard by the severe, emotional gold-flecked eyes. _We meet again, old friend…_ But before he could make a move towards the figure, it jolted forward, mouth set in a grimace although the eyes shone with duty.

Then the second shot was fired and Quatre watched numbly as the second silhouette fell from the catwalk, but lay unmoving on the ground.

* * *

The sirens had been wailing for a long time, he knew, but it seemed that only now they bothered to do so loud enough to wake him. He blinked at the strange surroundings; distant green eyes took in the metal walls and shaking instruments within with confusion. He grunted and turned to where a scrub-clad doctor leaned over him holding an IV. Down at the foot of the gurney was a pale, strained faced blonde who looked ghostly, the only sign of life was the bright blue eyes set above the dark circles of skin.

When Quatre registered Trowa's questioning green eyes, he nearly leapt from his kneeling position, but soon enough found there to be too little room for that as he would just as soon hit his head on the swinging instruments. Trowa smiled from under the oxygen mask for the first time in a year and Quatre couldn't help but smile back and squeeze Trowa's foot comfortingly from outside the shoe.

This was bound to be the beginning of a very long journey and self-discovery was not something that Quatre took lightly.


	3. Relapse

Castle to Sand

Chapter 3: Relapse

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam. The lyrics mentioned are from "The Outsider" by A Perfect Circle. I am not affiliated with APC in any way, nor do I own the song.

* * *

_The bullet passed straight through his shoulder. He'll be perfectly fine._

_There's nothing to worry about._

_Just go sit down and make yourself comfortable._

_The stitches may take a while to apply._

These voices passed by, floating through Quatre's singularly focussed mind. He drifted from hallway to hallway, his pale, fragile figure casting all the illusion of a spirit. His deep-sunken eyes just glazed over everything, not quite taking any of it in. For a while the blonde had stayed in the waiting room of the ER, but his numb legs soon found themselves incapable of waiting any longer for motion. They moved of their own resolve, leaving Quatre a passenger in his own body, gazing out empty windows to the foggy world beyond.

_Who is that?_

_Why is he in this wing?_

_Is he a patient?_

He passed them all by, his own throat too constricted to reply. In the ambulance he'd been able to hold his resolve and look to be the strong one, but watching Trowa being rolled away on the gurney simply broke his weakening mind. He could see Trowa's accusing green eyes staring up at him from the hospital bed saying to him with his mouth taped to the oxygen machine, "This is your fault. You're the reason that I'm here."

Quatre gave a weak, wry smile at the bulletin board outside the ER waiting room. "He's just doing his job."

"Mister Winner?" A voice called from inside the waiting room and Quatre mechanically made his way in, stomach shrivelling in agonizing anxiety as he did so. The plump nurse looked at him through horned glasses and smiled at him, despite his ghastly withered appearance. "Mister Barton is ready to take visitors now. He should be ready to leave by morning."

Nodding numbly, he was led into the community recovery room. The tarp dividers hanging from the ceilings kept one whispering family from the others, giving them some source of privacy with their loved ones…

Quatre eased up next to the bed, and felt the guilt clench his sunken stomach tighter. Trowa's eyes were closed and he was breathing regularly, the air tube absent from his nose and mouth. Reaching forward slowly for Trowa's hand, he caught a glimpse of the IV, but passed by it, placing his palm on top of Trowa's fingers and the man twitched and slowly opened his eyes to give Quatre a slow, tired smirk.

The blonde man tightened his grip just slightly on the green-eyed man's hand and gave a weak smile. Trowa gave a chuckle of a laugh, lips slowly parting to let out a drowsy voice. "Don't look at me like that. I'm fine."

"Like Hell you are." Quatre managed in a shaky, forceful whisper. "You didn't have to take that bullet, Trowa."

Trowa laughed and shook his head slightly. "What would you rather me have done?" Still smiling, his green eyes continued to laugh. "We've both had worse." Quatre stood still a moment and then allowed himself to nod his agreement. Trowa turned his hand over—carefully so as not to dislodge the IV—and took Quatre's hand in his own and gripped it as reassuringly as possible. "Go home. Get some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow afternoon." Again Quatre nodded and returned the squeezing before heading out of the visitation room.

Tomorrow was another day and Quatre couldn't face it without some semblance of sleep.

* * *

Quatre followed his own silhouette in the full body mirror by his bed and went directly into the bathroom. The entire complex had been silent, eerily so and now his room was even worse, void of sound save the slight squeaking of the fan. For long moments, he merely stood in front of the mirror, staring at the bags under his eyes and the waxen appearance of his tight skin. Reaching up a hand, he touched his face and shook his head.

Had it not been for Trowa, he wouldn't have even been there.

They'd expected an attack, they'd expected something to happen, but Quatre had been blindly faithful in his own people and this, above all other things, made him sick. All of his life he'd wanted to be able to trust people, to give them the benefit of the doubt. Just the same, he thought that the war would have cured him of that. Apparently not. But of all the people that he'd pushed away, the personification of his vision for society had been the one so excluded from his life. That was of no one's fault but his own. He slumped down on the ground and placed his head on the porcelain counter top, the cold surface just making his thoughts more cynical.

Quatre grit his teeth together and suddenly stopped, staring blankly at the wall with a look of utter realization on his face. His lips parted slightly, slowly, blue eyes widened a bit more than usual with brows relaxed slightly above them, framing those blue depths in a precise golden line. "Gundam pilots," he whispered to himself as though it would make sense to anyone listening. The Gundam pilots were the only purely truthful people in the world anymore. They had fought for the freedoms and for the peace of mankind. Their battles hadn't been fuelled by bloodlust or carnal instincts, but the with logical reasoning that if they fought and won against war, not against the people, that peace could finally reign.

However, had it not been the people who had started the war to begin with? Hadn't it been man's animal thirst for violence that had brought on the war? "So," Quatre thought, slowly standing, lethargic and boneless, "when we took away the only way to allow that need out, we doomed mankind to civil unrest." Without an outlet to the remaining violent drive, man would inevitably turn in on itself once more.

"Of course we didn't see it," Quatre murmured as he made his way to the bed, "we were so blinded by ideals that we believed that every person was just as tempered as we were, ourselves." He sat down, soon sprawling out, causing the bedsprings to groan. "The pilots, the war heroes… they're the only ones to be trusted."

* * *

Trowa made his way into the main part of the building, wearing the same suit that he'd had the night before. Dried blood caked the jacket and the white shirt and while, under any other circumstance he would have been upset by the ruining of one of his favourite jackets, he was much more appreciative of the repercussions its ruin had prevented. Quatre was alive and that's what mattered.

Even still, he wasn't about to go to work wearing a bloodied suit so Trowa took the long walk down the resident hall to his room where he removed the stained garments and discarded them into the waste bin.

As he passed in front of the mirror, he paused and turned to the glossy surface. The stitches in his shoulders stretched the skin around the bullet hole, making it more difficult to move, but with the scatterings of more of the same across his chest, Trowa passed it off as just another scar to add to the collection. Besides Heero, Trowa had held on to the suspicion that he had the most battlefield imperfections dotting and slashing at his torso and legs. When he'd first seen Heero, Trowa had taken one look at all the scars on one shoulder and knew that he most certainly didn't win the gold metal for most war-related injuries. The brunette exhaled and stretched his shoulder out, (just as he had with any of the other self-stitched injuries) until he was convinced that it would be good enough.

Trowa looked at himself a little longer and sniffed at the remaining stale feeling that the hospital had left behind, even on his dirtied clothes. He turned to the shower and reached for the curtain blocking it from the rest of the bathroom and stopped.

Someone was on the other side.

The young man slunk to the barrier wall between the shower and toilet and reached around, pushing back the curtain with a quick push to the plastic rings up top, but nothing happened. In the mirror, the man was still standing there staring right back at where Trowa crouched, but those clouded eyes remained fixed on the spot when the pilot stood and made his way out from behind the barricade.

The man's scruffy face and deep-set fogged eyes tugged at Trowa's mind and then realization crumbled around him.

This was the assassin. Someone had brought the assassin's corpse into his room and left it where they knew he would find it. Trowa reached out, numb to the shock of death and searched the pockets of the man's suit jacket. Cigarettes and a lighter were immediately produced and Trowa laid them down on the counter. Why would someone have gone through all the trouble of bringing the body up to his room and still neglect to remove the pocket contents? Brows furrowing, Trowa flipped the cigarette package over only to see heavy letters in black ink, dotted with dried blood from the assassin's own bullet wound.

"Self Destruct."

The man grit his teeth and picked up the box and rushed back into the bedroom to gather and jump into his clothes. By the time he rushed out of the apartment, his jacket was only halfway on and the package had been flung into one of his pockets.

The lighter, however had been forgotten and brushed onto the tile floor where it had skittered and landed with the other side facing up, showing a carving of sharp, messy letters…

* * *

"Self destruct?" Dorothy repeated, turning in from the sun bed built into one of Quatre's office windows. She'd been there since morning; it seemed, talking about extreme restrictions on workers for WEI. Amazingly enough, it seemed that these restrictions had been Quatre's idea and, while the thought boggled Trowa, there were simply more important things at hand. "Where did this come from?" She asked, flipping the cigarette package between slim fingers.

Trowa shook his head. "It was in the pocket of last night's shooter."

"That's ludicrous. I made sure that he was dead when we were waiting for the ambulance," Dorothy commented. She'd revealed that evening to Quatre that she had, in fact, been the one who'd shot him down after the attempted assassination had been made. For once in his life, Trowa had been thankful for the uppity girl's presence when he'd found this out. "Unless you got it off of him when you were fighting."

Quatre looked up suddenly, bleary eyes stunned and withdrawn. "Why didn't you bring this up sooner, Trowa? You could have told me if you'd had it before the shooting."

With a sigh, Trowa got ready for the explanation, but the main doors were flung open, emitting a very frightened secretary. "Mister Winner," She began in a shrill voice, breathy and shaking, "The housekeeper just told me that there's a corpse in one of the rooms in the residential wing."

Blue eyes immediately turned accusingly to Trowa. "I didn't bring him here," the man explained, expecting that the glare had been brought on by this suspected act. Quatre shook his head and turned back to the secretary, stepping out wearily from behind the desk. "It's alright, we'll take care of it." Quatre explained to the woman and she nodded slowly, but accepted that the corpse problem would be taken care of.

* * *

"He's in the shower," Trowa began as the three made their way into the cramped room. They crammed into the bathroom, leaning over the figure that had now slumped to the ground in a heap of dead skin and bones.

Dorothy covered her nose, but leaned in closer. "That's definitely him alright, but who brought him here and why?" The woman straightened, shaking her head. "There has to me a motive."

The blonde man furrowed his brows. "They want WEI out of business, isn't that motive enough? If they give us a bad enough reputation on the inside, more people will be wanting to go against the company."

"So what do we do? Call in the police?" The tall woman asked. "That would just spread all of this all over the media."

"Preventers," Trowa suggested. "If anyone's going to be able to help, it'll be Preventers." He turned to Quatre who, amazingly bit his lip and slowly nodded. "Alright, I can take care of this. You two have other things you need to do." When Dorothy opened her mouth to protest, Quatre merely looked at her and shook his head, leading her out begrudgingly.

* * *

With Duo and Heero in town, getting one of them to the office wasn't very difficult at all. One call on the vid phone to Duo was all it took to pry him out of his temporary office to come take a look at the scene. 'To think,' Trowa mused to himself as he invited Duo in, 'With all of this, you'd think we'd been detectives, not killers…' Trowa showed the braided man into the bathroom while Duo made small talk, like he usually did, but upon seeing the corpse in the shower, he fell silent and sunk down to take a look at the body.

"Poor guy," He murmured, moving parts of the body around as though searching it for things that Trowa had passed over, "Didn't even bother to put up the occupied sign." Duo exhaled and sat back on his heels. "That's just damned disrespectful." He bit at his lip for a moment, still staring at the body. "What did you say the cigarette pack said?" Trowa didn't bother answering, opting to hand over the box instead. " 'Self destruct?' Sounds like Heero, but Heero does _not_ pull jokes, right?"

Duo stood, flipping the cigarette pack in his hand. "Was there anything else on him?"

Trowa, having completely forgotten the lighter, turned to look where it had been on the counter, but found it gone. Brows furrowing, he looked under the pile of towels and the bloodstained clothes from the party. Just as he was about to open his mouth to declare it missing, there was an exclamation from Duo and the man slid the lighter up off the floor. He flipped it over, looking for the letters and then finally a sneer crossed his usually cheerful face. " 'Everyone has their day to die…' What the hell is that about? D'ya think that Quatre's… you know, in real trouble?"

"I would think so," Trowa admitted after a moment of hesitation. "Did you hear about the assassination attempt at the party?"

Nodding, Duo stared down at the words. The man looked as though there was a bad taste forming in his mouth. "Course I did; it was all over the news. I'm just glad you both got out alright."

Green eyes looked at his old companion in the mirror. "This man is the same one from last night." Duo looked up suddenly, but Trowa shook his head. "He was here when I got back from the hospital. I don't know who brought him here or who would want to leave clues, but…" again he caught Duo's gaze, "they want to be caught."

Duo looked down for a while, piecing things together in his head. "Do you think he had these things on him last night?" Trowa shook his head that he didn't know and Duo turned around to the shower again. He placed aside the items and leaned into the shower, smelling the man's jacket in hopes of catching a waft of cigarette smoke, but was only left with the pungent odour of decomposing flesh. Duo looked like he was on the verge of sneezing, but he shook it off. "Definitely didn't smell like _cigarettes_…No need for a lighter. Whoever brought him put this on him."

The braided man hurried out of the bathroom, picking up the vid phone and dialling the office number. "C'mon Heero… pick up." There was a dim click and a brusque "hello." Duo immediately lightened up, obviously thankful that his partner was still in the office. "Ro, it's me, Duo. Turn on the video."

Heero let out a breath, but in a moment the video blinked and turned on, revealing a rather mussed, rather irritated Heero. He gave a subconscious glare to the screen. "What do you want?"

Flashing a grin, Duo held up the cigarette box and the lighter. "Found these with the body. Wanna help me out a bit, buddy?" Heero rolled his eyes and dropped down the glasses that had been resting at the top of his head. He leaned in to read the script and shook his head as though he couldn't see it clearly enough. Duo quirked his lips. "It says 'Self destruct' and 'Everyone has their day to die'. Could ya help me out and look it up for me?" Heero gave the screen a blank stare as though considering whether or not to say no, but the frustration eased up. Trowa nearly sighed in relief. At least he knew that Heero had enough compassion for an old friend that he'd bother helping to save his life. Then again, as Duo thanked him, he wondered if it was just because Duo had asked.

Heero was typing, just barely in view of the vid phone. For a while there was just the keyboard clicking away, but then it paused and Heero rolled back to the phone. "They're lyrics from a song."

"Lyrics?" Trowa murmured to himself as Duo leaned in, demanding that Heero drop whatever joke he was playing. What criminal in their right mind would use song lyrics as a clue?

Finally Duo shut up and Trowa was pulled from his thoughts only to see that Heero had started glaring. It was hardly the mild look he so often used with Duo. This full-blown glare had caused even his partner, the least susceptible of the pilots to it, to immediately close his mouth, mid-sentence. Trowa, himself had to suppress a shiver. "I'll fax the information." Heero finally quipped and the screen flashed again, dimmed and the click of the receiver could be heard.

* * *

"We have to pull all of our strings on the workers now, Dorothy," Quatre insisted vehemently, "Who knows if my people have ever been or ever will be faithful to the company! With the incident at the party, I'm not about to take any more chances!"

Dorothy stood to face the slightly shorter man, her blue eyes glittering with resolve. "Quatre, it doesn't have to do with your workers being unfaithful to you! You've done everything that you can for your people to help them and to support them and almost all of them are thankful for that, but to cut wages and tighten the hold on things that don't need to be worried about is just asking for an overthrow in government. Don't you see? If you do this, you'll be the big corporations that your family strives so hard not to be!"

Scoffing, Quatre turned to the window and stared out. "Maybe the big corporations are right. People are vile, unfaithful and greedy. If they're offered more money by someone else, all that will happen is the early formation of a rebellion."

"The problem's in _security_, Quatre, not in the workers. A slacking security is what's allowing these things to happen. Do background checks before hire, but do not, by any means, take out your paranoia on the people who have done nothing to you! Don't ask for trouble when you don't—"

Quatre slammed his fist into the heavy glass window, quieting Dorothy for the moment that he needed to get his word in. "Civilians have no idea. They work all their lives for people and they follow a blind leader who has a slight reason to believe that there is a problem in management." The man turned, "I refuse to allow such things to be forged just behind my back!"

The woman shook her head, blonde locks falling over her shoulders. "Then perhaps you're just a selfish bureaucrat yourself." Dorothy turned, heading for the door, pausing only to say as she left, "True leaders put their life on the line, whether or not the people can understand the sacrifice."

As she left, Quatre let out a heavy sigh and sank into his desk chair. He ran a hand wearily through his hair. He hadn't slept well since Trowa arrived… not that he was blaming his lack of rest on him, but on the events that had occurred since his appearance. If Preventers hadn't sent Trowa, he'd be dead by now. Quatre dropped his head to the desk, staring at the vid phone distantly. Trowa was the kind of leader that Dorothy had been talking about. He was always quiet; content to believe that the things he said would be passed over or misunderstood.

Quatre smiled to himself. Trowa had always had a hard time expressing himself. After so many years of being on the run from militia to militia, Quatre supposed that he'd just gotten used to not speaking. However, even though the people around him never understood, Trowa had kept fighting. That wasn't to say that he didn't ask questions to himself. Quatre had caught him a few times sitting outside, asking questions to the passive sky. Trowa was a leader; so were Wufei, Duo and especially Heero. Heero hadn't really thought to be the leader of anything, but in his fight, he'd never wavered, never second-guessed himself and in that the people looked to him as a pillar.

"The heart of space…" Quatre murmured to himself. Maybe Dorothy was right. All of the other pilots had what it took to be a leader and maybe it was Quatre's fickle doubt that drained away his ability to support. He decided to allow the restrictions on his workers slide and tighten security, just to see if what Dorothy had said proved to be the truth. A beep answered him from the vid phone and then the fax began to work.

What was that? He hadn't been expecting anything. Quatre stood and walked over to the machine, pulling out the paper as it came. Slowly, he turned it over.

There was typing on the page, separated into what seemed to be stanzas. Quatre read through them, only noticing at the chorus repeat that the paper wasn't of a poem, but of a song. Something by a pre-colonial artist. At the top in Heero's perfect, but scratchy writing it read, "Duo, Ungrateful." Quatre chuckled to himself. Those two were still at it… but still, he wondered as he read through the lyrics again, what would Duo want with song lyrics?

A knock came to his door and, with his mind still absorbed in the paper, he called for the people outside to come in. First Trowa came in, looking up at Quatre in a quiet greeting before settling himself against the wall when Duo followed, hands in his pockets, face all smiles. "Yo, Q," Duo greeted, "Ya get that fax from Heero?"

Quatre looked up from the paper. "What? Oh yeah, I got it." He handed it to Duo who winked at him playfully as he tended to do. "Why song lyrics?"

Trowa almost reflexively produced the two items from his pocket. "I missed the other half of the message." He handed the cigarettes and lighter to Quatre who looked down at them eerily silent. His face was paling slightly in worry and Trowa found himself taking the few strides to the blonde man and put his hand on a slightly shaking shoulder. "Don't worry, we're not going to let anything happen." Quatre looked up, strained blue eyes pink in the whites from too many restless hours. He gave his partner a searching look and slowly nodded.

"These are them," Duo announced after perusing the paper. "Leave it to Ro, I always say. Part of the lyrics were cut out in our pieces. Guess they couldn't fit it all. 'Disconnect and self-destruct one bullet at a time. What's your rush now, everyone will have his day to die.'" He fell silent for a while. "Any clue?"

Trowa shook his head. "Who is it by?"

Shrugging, Duo bit his lip. "Some Maynard guy."

"Maynard…?" Quatre looked up suddenly, his eyes wide as though he'd been faced with an impossible prospect. The other two were looking to him expectantly and Quatre looked down slightly. "It shouldn't matter, but the Maynard I knew worked with my father before I left to train with the Professors." He shook his head, perplexed. "Father fired him, but he never told me why."

The room was silent for nearly a full minute (quite an accomplishment with Duo in the room), anxiety heightening as a ringing pitch through the room. Finally Trowa broke the silence. "Could find out where he lives? Or where he works?"

Quatre thought about it for a moment. "Maybe my secretary has some information in the files." He picked up the phone on his desk and pressed a button. "Yes, I was wondering if you could look up any information on a Maynard Segal. Mmhmm. He should be in the files. Alright. Thanks."

The other two watched him place down the receiver and let out a sigh. "All we can do now is wait… She said that she would check and get back to me."

Slowly, Duo nodded. "Alright, Q. Take care of yourself, okay? I need ta get back to the office." He looked to Trowa, "Watch after him and call me when the info comes in." He waited until the green-eyed man agreed and left the room, seemingly worried and preoccupied, tugging lightly at his braid in thought.

Trowa placed a hand on Quatre's shoulder, silently dismissing himself, but Quatre reached up, holding onto it without saying a word. Trowa looked back, more confused by Quatre's actions than shocked by them. The smaller man looked up with tired blue eyes and wrapped his arms around Trowa's slim waist. He buried his face into his companions shoulder and let out a long, much needed sigh. Raising his hand to the back of Quatre's head in question, green eyes softened under furrowed brows. The blonde murmured something into the shoulder he rested on and shook his head. "Hn?" Trowa asked, not able to understand his partner's voice when it was so muffled.

He'd wanted to say he was sorry. More than anything, Quatre knew now how much Trowa had wanted to protect him and moreover what he'd do to keep him, and Quatre had nearly ruined it a year ago and then again when Trowa had come under orders to protect him. Still whenever he opened his mouth to apologize, his voice came out weak and the words refused to form. He shook his head again. "It's nothing…" He let go of Trowa's waist, slowly, not quite sure If he was ready to face the world again. "I'm just worried is all."

"I told you already," Trowa spoke up, eyes turned away from Quatre so that he didn't frighten the man away again, "I love you and I won't let anything happen to you." He ducked his head. "Don't worry about it. I'll be in my room. Call me up when you get any word." With that, Trowa walked out, leaving Quatre feeling very small.

He was alone again, not confused by Trowa so much as himself. He felt disconnected, on the verge of collapsing…

"One bullet at a time…"


	4. Recovery

Castles to Sand

Chapter 4: Recovery

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam...

* * *

The circular room felt hot with the bustling of people. The secretary had been able to pull up more information than Preventers could have hoped for. Quatre picked up the file on his desk and was, for once, pleased with his father's insistence on keeping detailed records. Most of which, the CEO of WEI had discovered under his heavy scrutiny of the collection, had been scrawled in his father's meticulous style. Each detail had been placed and each jot and tittle was in perfect order. Quatre straightened, bleary eyes ignored and resolve burning strong in his chest. Now was the time for him to become the leader that Dorothy had described. Now was the time to put his life on the line for what he believed in. Now was the time when his speeding pulse and shaking hands had to be ignored for the greater importance of his people.

Yes. They were all his people.

This private counsel chamber buzzed with curious anxiety as Quatre approached the podium but Trowa looked on with absolute reverence. The blonde strode onward, posture straight and proud with overwhelming charisma. His tired eyes shone bleak yet clearly truthful and each fibre of his being resounded with a harmonious chord. The violin played his soul in his stance and resolve, silver vibrations echoing from him unseen from the walls. Not a single seat in the auditorium felt a dead spot, the strength of his personal acoustics sang, flawless. This performance was Quatre's alone and Trowa watched with quiet eyes the solo played out on Earth's stage.

Suddenly, the auditorium was quiet. Each member of the audience fell captivated by Quatre's presence and stared at the leader stepping up to serve the people he'd so long fought to protect. Once more, they saw the pilot climbing the steps to face the figurative executioner. Cerulean eyes washed the audience once-over before his lips even parted to speak. "We at WEI have stood for the economic support of the people. We have been a firm pillar for those who have been left deserted and incapable of self-care by the cruelties of men's war." He shook his head slowly. "Society imposes on us the belief that peace is something that can be won with guns and treaties, but these declarations of peace and war by the government are nothing without the will of the people. Human nature is to fortify its will and in doing so, it locks us in a cage of our own Id until soon we drop to our most animalistic instincts and fight the people we have so long wanted to keep close.

"As a pilot and a pacifist, I understand that many people look on me as a hypocrite and one of these same beasts who lower themselves to primal instinct for the feeling of self-attainment. As a pilot I must admit that my actions during the war were not against one side or the other, but against war itself. The people I've killed and the blood I've shed were side effects of a decision from which none of us could back down. We believed in peace. We believed in mankind.

"Society also imposes on us that man is either innately good or innately evil. Is an animal good or evil simply because of the actions it takes to survive? Yes, I am a pacifist, but I must stress, just as I have done with my past actions that to achieve a goal such as peace, there must, at times, be certain actions placed forward. Man cannot simply fight one another and decide that conflict is resolved. However, in fighting a certain calm is placed on the psyche. The resolution of a conflict allows man to phase out these instincts programmed into our mainframe, but the cycle remains to which our instincts eventually infer that in becoming placid, we become weak and the conflicts arise once more to feed the thirst that each of us contains in our deepest centres."

Quatre paused and followed the walls of the auditorium around to the rows and the seats of those watching. He exhaled and stepped back from his post of nearly leaning against the podium. "We have been made targets of someone's instinctual drive and even though man, while placid, is weak, man as a whole is a mob. He is a beast: a power with which to contend. We of WEI have been targeted for RN Tech's war and we must stand proud and quell these attacks of our pillars with the strongest mortar and stone we can find. Our base will remain firm and in such, our buildings will heal themselves.

"I have gathered you here today because I trust you. I, The pilot and the pacifist and the human, trust you. You are each my battle partners in life and in conflict and I have done all I can to watch out for you and your families in turn for the trust you place in me. Now, I regret to ask each of you for a return in favour.

"Maynard Segal of RN Tech has placed upon me a war from which I cannot fight alone and cannot ignore. My strength alone isn't enough to protect your families and your futures. This is what I ask of you: fight with me. Support the family that we have created and strengthen the unity that has long been the standing pillar of WEI. Together we are a formidable entity and an opponent not lightly reckoned with. Each of you become the stones and mortar and give us support while we smother the fires that RN Tech has set at our feet. Let them bring the fire; we will turn the winds back on their walls."

* * *

"Man, for a moment I thought Q was going to rally all the execs to infiltrate the bases," Duo snorted as he followed Trowa down the hallway to the residential district. "I never thought he had it in him, y'know? Pacifist Quatre Raberba Winner calling on his people to hold him up." He scoffed. "Who'd have thought."

Trowa checked his watch. "It's always been the people, Duo."

The braided man looked up shoved his hands into the pockets of the rumpled suit he'd donned for Quatre's speech. "Whaddya mean?"

"We've always fought for the people. We're the representatives for their decisions. If the people wanted war, would we fight it so hard?" Trowa paused. "Would we even fight it at all?"

Duo's brows furrowed and he pursed his lips. "Well, I guess not, but why did Q have to go about telling people that way?"

They stopped at the corner of the hallway and waited for Quatre to meet up with them. Trowa watched the drained, but strong figure approach from the adjoining hall with the shadow of a smile on his lips. "He needed to know that he was doing the right thing." To this Duo whistled then fell into a silent grin.

* * *

"_Preventers on the line. 01 and 02 in position. Ready to move out at your signal, Q."_ Duo's voice was just as laid-back as usual. Quatre could almost see the wide grin splitting his face almost directly across. He could also imagine the stoically centred Heero Yuy quietly leaning against the wall with his mouth in a precise line, eyes closed.

He, however felt quite queasy. Quatre wasn't exactly the most suited for the battlefield and was far more comfortable working behind the scenes on information organization and infiltration tactics. Now he sat in his limo in a well-tailored suit acting as a decoy to a Preventer's mission. No. That wasn't right. The CEO shook his head. He was taking a risk for the betterment of mankind. "Second unit, what about you?" He asked after he was sure that his earpiece was as inconspicuous as possible.

There was a pause and then a cool, sharp voice responded. "_03 and 05 in position."_ For a moment Quatre felt a fleeting sense of depression. Trowa hadn't responded and he'd given no insight on his view of the plan that Preventers had offered, but the blonde soon regained his composure. He had his entire company at his back and even if Trowa didn't agree with the route being taken, there was no way that he would try to keep Quatre from his personal responsibility.

_Quatre, wait. I—you can't go._ Trowa's voice echoed in his mind. Quatre furrowed his brows. That was different. Sure moving out to New York had also been his responsibility, but there had been alternatives that, while they wouldn't be as effective, would have helped the executive underemployment. Rashid could have gone in his place. The man knew more about the estates of WEI than Quatre, himself did. What Trowa had asked wasn't an impossibility. _I love you._ There was where the impossibility had come, but now the world had flipped upside-down and there was no time to consider the repercussions of his actions. WEI had to be protected. The people were his soul and if they failed, so would he. "Be ready to dispatch on your unit leader's signal. Operation is commencing." He gripped the handle with a pale hand and stepped into the evening's golden wash. Eyes set and mouth tight, Quatre moved on towards the lion's den.

* * *

It had been a long time since all of them had been stationed on a mission together, Trowa noticed quietly. Duo and Heero had done their best to use the information Quatre provided to their advantage. Maynard was prone to outbursts, but wasn't to be underestimated because of his impulsive mood swings. While the rest of the pilots had been worried about the repercussions of one of Maynard's furies, Duo had sniggered and compared him to a pregnant woman. They all had managed a smile, even Heero. Trowa stared placidly at a spot on the wall with his weapon at the ready. Perhaps that was why Duo had gotten on so well as Heero's partner; if no one else could, Duo could break through Heero's defences.

Trowa, himself had been done in much the same. What had it been? He couldn't place the point precisely. Quatre wasn't as innocent as people made him out to be. He was good-natured and a model leader, even if his emotions often caused him to question himself. Green eyes frowned, but he didn't move. Sometimes Quatre didn't seem stable enough to support himself and would gladly sacrifice his own well being for that of his people. _Nobility?_ Trowa asked himself. _Is that what broke through?_ If it was, then Trowa wondered why it hadn't been Heero.

No, it couldn't have just been the nobility. There was something about Quatre… he had a genuine core that many people lacked. While he'd been raised in a proper house with everything provided that would be necessary for his survival, he cared more about the welfare of the people than his own situation in life. Quatre called it his 'little rebellion' but if he hadn't been there with the rest of them, there was a good chance that the pilots would have failed in their mission due to a lack of resources. His intentions had been pure. It must have been that core that woke Trowa's humanity. It must have warmed the ice enough for him to become a person again. He refused to allow Quatre's fire to be erased.

"We're on standby." Wufei whispered to his partner and Trowa nodded. "Keep focused, Trowa. We can't afford to have you ruin our cover."

_The mission is of utmost importance,_ Trowa agreed internally and readied himself for his next action.

* * *

The hallway stretched out before him much the same as the catwalk Trowa had walked the night he'd been shot. Quatre could hear the proverbial rattling of their plans behind the walls, but he straightened his back for the cameras and continued forward. He had business with Maynard: a personal conference that was a necessity to clear both of their names. As he continued down the hallway, a guard force came to meet him with guns drawn and cold eyes. Quatre met them, then fell to a stop. He looked up at the commander, but his facial expression didn't change. His time as an active Gundam pilot didn't include the same activities as Heero and Duo's. Quatre couldn't blame his training on the terribly accurate acting because he'd never really been involved in anything that was under cover.

The lead guard's voice came out sharp and commanding, green eyes flatly staring back into fierce cornflower blue. "Admittance is prohibited beyond this point, sir. Please turn back or we will have to escort you by force."

Trowa's script had been written not long ago, but Quatre wasn't surprised that he'd made sure to completely memorize it. The lines came out just as he'd practiced: perfectly clipped and perfectly clear. "I'm Quatre Raberba Winner, chairman of WEI and I request a meeting with Mr. Segal. I have come unarmed," he admitted, "have your men search me, for his protection, but send him word that if my request is denied, then there will be serious repercussions."

The tall man nodded back to one of his battalion and as he left through the doors, Trowa called another two up to search for weapons. They came up short, as planned and when the messenger returned, Quatre was surrounded and led deeper into the building.

He could feel the heat of the others around him. He knew that among them his own people were stationed. Preventers strictly knew the specifics, but he could see a few faces that were familiar and this helped to rest his insecurities. This was the moment he had been waiting for. The blonde straightened and walked like a nobleman sentenced to execution. Everything in this building was about to fail. Everything was about to end, right here and right now. He could feel his heart pounding strongly in his chest.

This was the battle his soul had hoped to extinguish, but now, with his people intermingled at his back, he felt strangely more at home than he had in years. He stared forward with eyes far older than they had been in the years of the War. His face had matured and slimmed out, his body had filled in where his adolescence had been lacking. He was the single pillar of Greece and the people were his stone and mortar. No single Plebeian could take him down. Not Maynard. Not with all the ammunition the world had to offer.

The room Quatre was led into opened widely in front of him. The office was made for a full conference and in an instant, Quatre knew the man at the table. He had aged from the image his father had on file. The sandy blonde hair that had been salted with white now shone snow white and was neatly slicked back against his head. A prominent widow's peak reached down the forehead that was so thoroughly lit by the overhead lights. He sat with his elbows on the table and his fingers laced in thought, but an all-knowing smile spread beneath his wrinkled hands.

The commander saluted Maynard and announced, "CEO Quatre Raberba Winner of WEI. He insisted on speaking with you, sir."

"Let him in, by all means," Maynard said and waved his hand to the uniformed guard. Green eyes held firm as he saluted again and stepped aside. Quatre took a step forward; his mouth was pulled into a tight line. "Mr. Winner, I'm disappointed to see that you're so lacking in your father's pleasant disposition," he gestured to a chair directly across from him and Quatre had no choice but to sit.

From the corner of his eyes, Quatre could see the doors that flanked the table on either side, in addition to the entrance through which he had just arrived. He didn't dare to make any sign that he noticed the accuracy of the Preventers' blueprint. Instead he narrowed his eyes and crossed his hands cordially on the top of the sterile metal table. "I assure you that I'm not my father," he admitted in a clipped voice, "Though I'm sure you know that already."

Maynard laughed in a way that made Quatre's stomach feel like it was filled with cold mucus. The elderly cackle sounded like smoke and illness. It cracked and changed pitch as though he had no control of it, but it remained at a soft volume—a chuckle if it was to be classified as anything that would come from someone of healthy body… or of healthy mind. Something was distinctly off about Maynard Segal. "Of course you are nowhere close to your father." He smiled a grin filled with yellowed and aged teeth. "He was a man of true value—such a pacifist the world could never match. Not even the Peacecrafts could dream of coming close. Even the Darlian girl used that pilot dog to her own ends." He lowered his chin and said with no change in his voice, "Excuse me, I seem to have forgotten that you were one of the boys, weren't you? Such a pity that your father was betrayed in such a callous fashion."

"I'm not here to discuss my past actions, Mr. Segal," Quatre quipped, "but simply to ask you to back down. Your insistence to use violence against my workers is entirely unnecessary. Your own prejudices are no reason to put innocent people in danger." Quatre listened to his mind race. The words in his earpiece ran a mile a minute.

"_Ready when you are, Q. Just give the word and we're in."_ Duo's voice was clear amidst the other confirmations. The feed was being sent to the Preventer's headquarters as they spoke.

Maynard quirked a brow and sneered. "Your people aren't innocent. They're just as fucking hypocritical as their leader." He pushed out of his chair and stood. Despite his facial age, his body was strong and lithe. The man had kept himself healthy and active, despite his absence in the military. He, like the rest of them, was a natural fighter and no declaration of peace could end his battle with the world. "A leader is everything the followers believe in. If your people believe in you, then they believe in a man who turned his back on his own homeland to leech off of an economy to which he has no claim. They believe in a man who fights under false pretences to win the support of either side. They believe in a murdering flip-flopper who will do anything to achieve his own goals. How is that good for them? How is that good for any of us?"

"Mr. Segal, may I remind you that you are under suspicion for the attempted murder of one of my men?" Quatre didn't move from his spot. He refused to allow this madman's words to affect him. This was for his people and there was no room for mistake. "Your words are further proof of these accusations."

The laugh came again, but this time much louder and Maynard seemed to bend backwards under the stress of the laughter. It was crazed, phlegm-filled and in no way natural. When he calmed, he asked in mocking disbelief. "Are you threatening me, Mr. Winner? Threatening me in my own compound with my own soldiers at your back. I don't believe that you have much leverage here. These people—my people—the true loyalists, follow a man who lives by his word: a word that has no double meaning. In this world there are only those who live and die and to live you must stand firm in a single belief, whether it's pacifism or war. This is the only surety and to follow an upstanding man like myself is to thrive in the destruction of two-faced politicians like you, Mr. Winner." He approached Quatre's chair with his hands in the pockets of his pinstriped blue suit and the young CEO clearly saw the gun holstered beneath it. "I don't deny that my men have infiltrated your compound in an effort to erase the world of the one lucky rat who won his stature by his noble father's death. A young upstart such as yourself has no place in this man's world." He laughed slowly and reached into his jacket to draw his gun. "I have no reserves in erasing you right now. My efforts are real and will be respected by my peers, but you, Mr. Winner…. You will never leave this room."

Quatre stared down the barrel of this snub-nosed cassul with a smile. His brows furrowed in a dare. This wasn't the first time he'd stared down death and this time he simply smiled with his hands crossed in perfect, calm control. "Mr. Segal," Quatre replied with a laugh in his voice and a stone heavy in his stomach, "the Reaper is a friend of mine. If he was going to take me somewhere, don't you think he would have taken the chance before now?"

Maynard's brow furrowed and his smile contorted into a bestial expression Quatre had only before seen covered in blood and grime. It was the look of a desperate man living the only way he knew how with the battlefield as his home. "What are you saying, filth?! Do you think you can get away from me now? Fucking Gundam freak that you are, without your suit you're nothing! You've never been a real warrior. You've never been face to face with the ones you love dying right before your eyes."

Sadly, Quatre closed his eyes for a moment and he could almost hear Maynard's finger squeeze on the trigger. "Mr. Segal. We all saw more than we wanted. We all did what we had to. We fought for the people. We fought to gain peace. We were catalysts and to become truly effective all those who we were close to were taken away. Whether they died or disappeared or even lost their memory of us…." Quatre could see Trowa staring at them blankly behind his eyelids and remembered his need to reach out to him and will him to remember. He felt the pain of that moment rise up into his chest and he opened his eyes slowly, "but no matter what the reasoning or to what end, we will all meet our maker."

The side doors were kicked open at the exact moment the trigger was pulled. The shot rang through the air and jolted Maynard's hand back. Quatre stared with the same sad cornflower eyes while Preventers agents grappled the leader of RN Tech to the ground. The practiced motions of Chang Wufei one by one incapacitated the soldiers at the door and the room was thrown into complete chaos, but Quatre didn't see any of this.

He fell into strong arms and closed his deep eyes. His blonde hair fell over Trowa's shoulder as he tiredly clung to the military uniform. He was exhausted. Despite all of his strength while he looked down the short barrel of Maynard's gun, the unfaltering attitude mingled with the stress of the days past had simply wrung him dry. He could barely hear Trowa murmuring in his ear about how stupid he had been not calling the troops in sooner. He could feel Trowa's hands shaking as he stroked the back of Quatre's head.

Distantly, Quatre thought that this was the most he'd ever heard Trowa say at one time.

* * *

Once they arrived at the Preventers base, Quatre was called into a back room where a woman was being held for questioning. He had been warned when he went in not to disregard the subject lightly and so, when he entered, he did so with an unyielding heart. To be truthful, he was too tired to feel anything. His fingers were still numb and he just wanted to get back to his room to sleep.

He opened the door and apologized to the observers of the interrogation for his interruption. Quatre immediately found Heero standing with apt attention and made his way towards him. The sharp voice of Change Wufei came to them from the other side of the window, but Quatre didn't want to hear much of anything. He'd rather hear what was going on from someone he knew wouldn't skirt around the official questions. "Heero," Quatre called and the Asian man met his eyes for just an instant to show that he was listening, "What have they found out?"

"Relena's guard captain," Heero said coldly. "She was waiting in Maynard's office, but she hasn't said anything."

Quatre sighed and turned his eyes to the room with complete disappointment. "But… she was supposed to protect Relena wasn't she? Why would she…."

Heero gave a nasal response, but said nothing more.

Slowly, it seemed to dawn on Quatre as he watched the interrogation. "No," he whispered to himself, "She's of the mind that Peace can't survive if we're still here." He smiled and chuckled to himself. Would they be fighting this prejudice their whole lives? Absorbed in his own thoughts, he didn't see Heero peer at him askance and give a slight, understanding smile. Quatre was finally starting to see that not everything was black and white. The CEO shook his head and put his hands into the pockets of his slacks. "Thanks, Heero," he said, "For everything you've done to help us with this. Extend my regards to Duo, but I think I'm going to go home and rest." He ducked his head to leave, but was caught off guard by a hand on his shoulder.

Quatre turned curious cornflower eyes to Heero who looked at him with sharp blue eyes. The blonde man felt those eyes pierce his skin and stare right into his soul, but simply stared back since he was far too lacking in strength to shrink away. "Talk to him," Heero said after a long moment, then released his hold on the slighter man.

"Do you think something's wrong? Talk to Trowa?" He asked, concerned, but Heero just gave that same nasal response and remained silent. Quatre finally sighed and decided that he had no choice but to do what Heero said.

* * *

The suitcase was thrown open and there were suit pieces already packed in tightly folded precision. Everything was pristine. It was all just as it had been when he'd arrived. The salmon bedspread with the uncharacteristic flowers was made neatly and the room still smelled like a hotel. The burnt orange chair in the corner was now bare of any clothing. The only sign of any life was the suitcase and the tall man who was placing the last of his belongings into it. He took the last article—Quatre's worn pink shirt—and laid it precisely on top. There were no wrinkles, just the same soft fabric with which he'd become so familiar. He closed his eyes and took a long inhale, and then simply listened.

He could hear the fan whirring above them. The inconstant tap of the chain against the light bulb, accompanied by an equally sporadic squeaking provided just enough noise to keep his mind focussed. The mission was over. That was that. It was time for him to return home in the colonies. It was time for him to get back to work and to put together his life again.

Trowa stared with gold-flecked green eyes at the suitcase. This was everything, wasn't it? He had his toothbrush, his socks and his dress clothes. He ran through the list once more in his mind and the moment he finished, three knocks sounded at the door and it was pushed open almost meekly. Trowa turned those same warm eyes to a tired-looking Quatre. He felt his pulse skip just barely and he gave the smallest nod possible before he closed up his suitcase.

Quatre looked down at the floor and ran a hand through his blonde hair. He gave an uneasy chuckle. "Didn't pack last night?" he asked, not quite as smooth as he had hoped it would come out.

The brunette couldn't help but smile. So they were at least back to their old routine. "I did," Trowa replied evenly, "but I changed my wardrobe at the last minute."

This pulled Quatre from his unease and, as though a release had been pulled on all the stress, he started laughing. At first it was full and spontaneous. It was the laugh Trowa had so rarely heard during the war and grown to love soon after. It was the sign that Quatre was truly happy. Green eyes watched as Quatre's tired face lit up and seemed to shine with relief, but slowly the laugh became almost frenzied. He couldn't stop it from escaping and he clutched at his side and waved his hand at Trowa when he failed to be able to speak through his hysterics. "Are you going to be all right?" Trowa asked with a confused smile.

Slowly, Quatre was able to sober up. He put his face in his hands and just shook his head. "I never thought that we would be able to go through this again." He let his hands drop to his side and he looked up with pleading blue eyes. "I fucked up, Trowa." His brows knit together almost desperately. "I fucked up so badly…. That day when I left, I pushed you away. I was so willing to destroy our friendship just because I didn't know how to listen. I didn't know how to connect." Quatre shook his head and raked a hand through the blonde locks once more. "I was so wrapped up in everything that—I don't really have an excuse. There was no reason for me to turn you away."

Trowa stared blankly. Were they really bringing up this untouchable topic? He had never imagined that it would show its face again. He furrowed his brows, "You don't have to," he offered, but Quatre waved his hand and Trowa quieted. It wasn't often that Quatre did this, so he was willing to listen if that's what had to be done.

"The irony of it is that when I came here I wanted to ask you to stay and it wasn't until I walked in that I realized what exactly I wanted." Quatre straightened and tilted his head back to the ceiling with closed eyes. "Then I heard the fan and I thought 'this is exactly the same as before, only….' What I'm trying to say is: You can't go." He smiled and turned cornflower blue eyes to the silent onlooker, "You can't go, because I love you."

Quatre felt like he was on stage again. He could feel the desperate chord in him wail like the strings of his violin. It was something he'd never noticed before. The abstract notes filled him from the core and he wanted nothing more than to express this raw emotion. He needed to tell Trowa, he had to explain. "When I told you to go home when you first came here, I was afraid. I was angry… I didn't know what to do. Still, you stayed and you protected me. You did everything in your power to get the job done and when you got shot…. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what to think. Everything I knew was suddenly gone. The world stopped and still I refused to acknowledge what I've known all along." He felt hot tears spring into his eyes and they rolled down his face. He couldn't control them, nor did he care to. He needed to let all of this go. He needed these notes to flow from him in any way possible or else he'd explode.

"Then today when you saved me from Maynard…. I was thinking about you. I was thinking about when you lost your memory and all I wanted was for you to be right there and then you…."

Trowa shook his head and cleared the distance between them in two steps. He placed a palm on Quatre's face and wiped away the tears with his thumb. "Of course I'm right here," he whispered, "I've always been right here." He gave a small smile and Quatre dissolved into tears. He launched himself forward and gripped desperately at the back of Trowa's shirt. The taller man rested his cheek against the soft blonde hair and held Quatre tightly to him. He felt a tumult of emotion flow through him and he refused to push it away. It had been far too long since he'd even allowed himself the satisfaction of even imagining this scenario. He silently supported the man he loved through his tears and when Quatre was able to look up at him with bleary eyes, he rested his forehead against Quatre's and said, "Just ask and I'll stay."

To this, Quatre bit his lip and nodded. "Please. I don't want to you be gone again. It's been a nightmare." He reached up with a cool hand to Trowa's face and leaned in to plant a soft kiss on the velvety pads of his lips. There was a firm resistance against him, strong and supportive. Quatre felt the vertigo set in almost immediately. With Trowa's solid hand at the base of his back, he allowed himself to be steered closer until he was pressed flush against him. The blonde could feel the well-toned muscles he's been so envious of since their partnership in the war and his body heat seemed to rise. The blood coursed through his body strongly so that soon enough, the kiss that had started out so innocent had turned into a frantic effort to be closer. Quatre wanted to be filled with this feeling. He couldn't imagine anyone else in the world that he trusted and loved as much as this man holding him in his arms.

At some point, Trowa pulled away just enough to catch his breath. Quatre could feel his quickened pulse in his throat beneath his hands. "Trowa…." Quatre breathed, "I'm so sorry."

Trowa shook his head and tightened his hold on the blonde man (if that was possible), then sighed. "You always told me not to be sorry for your emotions." He visibly reddened, as though he hadn't expected the words to come out of his mouth. "All we can do is try to make things better from now on."

With a nod and a smile, Quatre replied, "Then starting today."

"Starting today," Trowa agreed.

"Starting today, I guess Heero and Duo have something to say 'I told you so' about."

The brunette chuckled and leaned in to kiss Quatre once more. His hand slipped up the back of the blonde's shirt and he ran his fingers along the soft skin at the base of his back. The light peach fuzz stood up on end at his touch and pulled away from the kiss to give Trowa a sort of look that said, "Did you really?" but said nothing. Instead, he contented himself with unbuttoning the dress shirt that was partially undone already.

This sent a shocked expression across Trowa's eyes, but he smiled and allowed his hands to rest on Quatre's waist. He used his thumbs to trace the ribs he found there and was even further surprised when Quatre discarded Trowa's dress shirt and feathered kisses along his neck. He could barely feel them, had it not been for Quatre's ragged breathing. The blonde paused a moment and boldly locked eyes with Trowa before he started backing the man up to the bed. When the backs of Trowa's calves met the cushion, he shook his head and picked Quatre up with a smirk, depositing him onto the mattress before he discarded his suitcase and crawled in, himself.

Despite his brazen actions, Quatre met Trowa's gaze with a blush. "I feel overdressed," he admitted to the brunette who, himself, was bare from the waist up. Trowa blinked and took note of this and began unbuttoning the dress shirt that Quatre had already untucked before he arrived. The soft fabric whispered against his fingers when he touched it. The silk shirt was something Trowa hadn't before noticed, but now he felt it slide against Quatre's slight, but firm muscle. Soon enough he helped Quatre pull it from around his shoulders and discarded it at the foot of the bed.

Quatre reached out to run his fingers through Trowa's hair and revealed both startlingly green eyes. It was a rare occasion for him to see both at once and, now he revelled in it. He could feel Trowa's warm gaze taking everything in and storing all the information in the back of his mind. He knew that, when he was silent, he would sort through these things until every detail was imprinted into his mind. This was how Trowa worked. This was now Trowa survived. Quatre's blue gaze explored the terrain of Trowa's chest and abdomen as it hovered above him. He eyed the scars and the scrapes and the bruises until his eyes found the deep purple surrounding the fresh bullet wound and suddenly his gaze turned to one of worry. "You should be resting," he realized with guilt.

Trowa's eyelids drooped and his smile returned to the normal pout. "We should both be resting."

To this Quatre slowly nodded and he pulled Trowa back down into bed with him. "It's all right, though," he said softly when he had gotten comfortable against Trowa's chest. "We have time now. We can continue this anytime." He closed his eyes and inhaled the simple scent of Trowa—the mix of soap and his personal musk that Quatre could never pinpoint. He felt comfortable for the first time in what seemed to be ages. He was comfortable with himself and all he wanted to do was regain the sense of home he'd left when he decided to come to New York… when he'd decided to leave Trowa.

Trowa nodded. "Tomorrow," he said with a joking smile. "Starting tomorrow."

Quatre chuckled and poked the man in the ribs. "Fat chance."

He could almost feel his life stretch out in front of him. He saw all the destinies he could have with Trowa, strong and supportive at his side…. Quatre sighed and drifted off to sleep, listening to the humming ceiling fan and the heartbeat that would forever interrupt that listless silence.

Owari


End file.
